The White Swan
by Ryalin
Summary: An evening at the ballet leads to a very important discussion between Tony and Ziva.


Tony, Ziva, Swan Lake and Black Swan do not belong to me. I simply borrowed all of the above for a bit of fun and returned them more or less unharmed. Special thanks go out to Sammy for the prompt, Lynda for her cheerleading and, as always, Zakiyah for her 'hazard pay'-deserving Beta services.

**The White Swan**

It was at times like this that very Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo decided that thinking was highly overrated. His typical 'act first, avoid questions later' approach to life would have most likely put him somewhere very far away from his current state of misery. The fact that he had taken the more methodical approach, some might even argue the more mature approach, left him wondering how he was ever expected to learn important life lessons if God continued to have a very active sense of humor. He was growing weary of always ending up the butt of cosmic jokes.

But after weeks of careful consideration, endless analysis of a multitude of available options, and conversations with Ducky that had topped out even the verbose medical examiner's patience levels, here he sat, staring into the deep, coffee-colored eyes of his date. His date, who was clad in the most sumptuous piece of scarlet silk he had ever seen. His date, whose amazing legs looked a mile long in 5-inch stiletto heels. His date, whom, he was certain, was imagining 10 different ways of killing him without leaving any evidence, all while he could feel the small rivulet of drool easing down his neck and under the collar of his Paul Stuart dress shirt.

Around him, a collection of exquisitely clad men and women made leisurely exits. He could hear smatterings of conversations punctuated with comments of "superlative performances" and "timeless epics". The older couple seated immediately to their right stood, and while waiting for their row to clear, compared the evening's traditional rendition to the Matthew Bourne version they had seen several years earlier. As the male half of the elderly pairing launched into the pros of actually having female dancers in the female roles, his sharp-eyed wife gave Tony a once over followed by a displeased frown that appeared to measure his worth and find it decidedly lacking. The sympathetic look she gave Ziva as she turned to follow her husband toward the aisle spoke volumes; all likely sporting titles along the lines of 'Why the unwashed masses should not be allowed to attend the ballet'.

With most of their aisle now clear, Tony prepared to rise and follow the crowd toward the theater exits. He could feel the heat on his cheeks, largely driven by the embarrassment he felt. His suit stifled him, and he couldn't wait to get home and peel away the layers of designer clothing along with, hopefully, any memory of the evening's many failures. An old saying regarding bulls and china shops hopelessly reverberated through his brain as he wondered if now was the perfect time to coin a new adage regarding the dangers of mixing Italian jocks with Swan Lake. So it was with no small amount of consternation that Tony realized that though he wanted to rise from his chair, something prevented him from doing so. Further assessment indicated that the 'something' was Ziva's hand on his arm. Staring once again into the deep, liquid pools of her eyes, he expected to see fury, or accusations, or (God help him) pity. It was with no small shock that he realized that what he saw in her eyes was only curiosity, like she was staring at a puzzle that she couldn't quite figure out.

"Tony", she asked quietly, her hand still gently touching his arm, "If you don't enjoy the ballet, then why are we here?"

Such a simple question. A question that deserved a simple answer he didn't really have. As per his usual, his immediate response was deflection.

"What makes you think I didn't enjoy it?" He attempted to imbue his statement with a sense of smug charm and knew, the moment the words left his lips, that it was the absolute wrong thing to say.

"Tony, you were asleep for nearly the entire second act. Snoring for the last 20 minutes." If it was possible to infuse verbiage with the act of eye rolling, Ziva had the technique mastered. "I will ask you again Tony, and I feel I deserve an honest answer. Why are we here?"

Subconsciously, he began rubbing his fingers up and down along the back of the hand still resting lightly on his arm. The skin felt warm and smooth and deliciously alive. "It's your birthday, and I wanted to do something special."

"But why the ballet? You hate the ballet."

"I liked Black Swan."

He saw Ziva's eyes sparkle as she smiled. "Tony, you liked… How do you put it? The 'girl-on-girl action', yes?"

_Guilty as charged_, Tony thought to himself as he felt his blush deepen even further. At this point, he probably looked as scarlet as Ziva's dress.

He felt her long, slim fingers brush against the simmering heat of his cheek as she gently turned his face toward hers and once again stared deeply into his eyes. The expression was one he was familiar with. She had worn the same expression on her face the first time they had made love, and he had been deeply humbled by the intensity of the trust he had seen in her eyes as his body moved gently over hers. Now, in this nearly empty theater, with the final notes of Tchaikovsky's masterpiece still haunting the edges of his awareness, he found he couldn't turn away, couldn't escape and definitely couldn't lie. He had screwed up everything else tonight. He wasn't about to screw this up too. He owed her the same level of trust.

"He was so cultured."

"Who? Tony, I don't understand."

"Ray." The name tasted bitter in his mouth, but he made himself say it, and then he made himself explain. "And Rivkin, too. Yeah, he turned out to be an asshole, but at least he knew how to enjoy a ballet. I'm just…well, a chump."

"It's not that he's dead. It's that your Mossad boyfriend got his ass kicked by a chump like me." Instantly she was thousands of miles away and a lifetime younger. Tony's words hurt. The memories hurt more. Nevertheless, she forced herself to examine them closely and choose her words carefully before responding to the man in front of her. Armani suits and cutting quips were his suit of armor, strategically designed to protect the most loving of hearts and the most fragile of egos.

Ziva took a breath, letting the tension she felt drain away as she exhaled. "Tony, I will not lie. There was a time, however brief, where I truly wanted to believe that Ray was exactly what I was looking for. He was sweet, funny, cultured, and showered me with attention. He made me believe in a new life, a different world far away from the reality of my past. I did not want to let that go."

An eon of quiet, where her heart hurt with the pain that she had said the wrong thing. That he wouldn't understand.

"So why did you?" Barely a whisper, but the words struck true. Flat. Emotionless. And she found herself again transported. Not a lifetime, and only a few miles away, to a men's restroom turned co-ed out of necessity. The confrontation that followed remained to this day the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. Months of torture paled in comparison to the pain of having betrayed the trust of the man in front of her and the remaining doubts, despite his heroic exploits, that their relationship could ever recover.

She brushed a kiss, feather-light and gentle, across his pursed lips. She could see the doubt in his eyes as she moved away, her fingers lingering across the light stubble of his jaw. She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he mentally evaluated every way he believed he wasn't good enough for her. He was too busy wallowing in his own insecurities to really look at the woman in front of him and understand all the ways she believed she didn't deserve him.

"Tony, how much of the ballet do you actually remember?" she asked as she continued to gently stroke his jaw line.

If anything, Tony reddened even more before he replied. "I remember the guy seeing all the girls dancing. It seemed like he was focused on one in particular."

Pleased that he at least remembered that, she continued. "They are Odette and Sebastian. He's a prince and she's a princess who's been enchanted by an evil sorcerer. She lives as a swan by day and transforms back into a woman at night. Sebastian is out hunting one day and comes across the lake just as Odette returns to her human form. He falls instantly in love with her and her with him. The only thing that can break the curse she's under is the power of eternal love and faithfulness."

"Reminds me of Ladyhawke. 1985. Richard Donner directing. Rutger Hauer is in love with Michelle Pfieffer, but so is this very powerful, very evil Bishop. Michelle falls for Rutger, but the Bishop finds out and puts a curse on them so that she's a hawk by day and he's a wolf by night. Great cinematography, non-traditional soundtrack by Alan Parsons that I actually kind of lik….."

With one finger pressed firmly over soft lips, Ziva put an end to the Anthony Dinozzo movie diatribe which she knew concealed vast amounts of anxiety. "Tony, please let me finish."

"The sorcerer who placed the curse does not want to see it broken, so he comes up with a way to trick Sebastian into breaking his vows to Odette. He presents his own daughter, Odile, to Sebastian. He's transformed her into an exact duplicate of Odette. Sebastian is fooled and professes his love to her. With those words, Odette is doomed to forever being a swan."

"Ziva, take a moment to remember your date, who I might remind you majored in Phys Ed, and explain in simple words what this has to do with tonight." His tone held equal parts bitterness and fear; bitterness that he couldn't be what she needed him to be and fear that after a night like this one, it wouldn't be long before she figured that out.

With one more long, measured breath, Ziva prayed that this one time, she would find the right words, the words that would allow Tony to peer into her heart and see that he was its keeper.

"Tony," she said as tears began to well up in her eyes, "it was an illusion. Ray was nothing more than a bad copy of what I really wanted. I was lost in the illusion, and, for a while, I thought I was happy."

She briefly thought about bringing up EJ, about the pain she had felt at seeing Tony with yet another woman with whom he shared nothing but a physical attraction. It had certainly contributed to her need to create something tangible with Ray, long after the fantasy had begun to wane. Ultimately, however, she thought better of it. There was nothing to be gained from kicking Tony when he was this vulnerable.

"Ray was my black swan. He was everything I ever thought I wanted, except he wasn't. In the end, he wasn't you."

Tony brought a finger to her face, rubbing the tear drop that had managed to slide halfway down her cheek. She smiled when she realized that her declaration had managed to elicit a similar response from him. Unlike Tony, however, Ziva gently kissed away his tears before placing her forehead against his.

"I love you so much, Ziva." The sweetness of his words seemed to carry on his breath as it was captured by her own, suffusing her body with a warm glow. "I want to be the kind of man you deserve."

"You have been that man from the moment I met you." At Tony's look of doubt, she laughed. "Fine. I could see the potential in that man."

"Must have been your super-Ninja x-ray vision. Six years ago that man was buried pretty deep. I'm still not certain I won't continue to disappoint."

Ziva rose from her seat, grabbing Tony's hand and pulling him up with her. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him gently before placing her head on his shoulder. "It is not about the ballet or the opera or the culture you believe you lack. Everything I have ever wanted is right here in my arms. My heart and soul will always belong to you."

Hours later in the darkness, as the music of Tchaikovsky floated like gossamer silk over two bodies slick with the sweat of heated passion, Tony held Ziva in his arms and finally understood. Later, in the depths of peaceful slumber, he dreamed of white swans with chocolate brown eyes.


End file.
